Being here is like existing three feet beneath the surface of a black lake in the dead of night – surrounded by oceans of black sand. It’s like being stuck in that moment when you’re in so much pain that you’re about to slip into unconsciousness – but never really do. It’s like being buried alive in a spacious cavern – being attacked by agoraphobia and claustrophobia all at the same time. It’s not remembering the existence of anything else before you got here, and worse yet, it’s not knowing if you’ll ever exist anywhere else after this. It’s not knowing if anywhere else even exists. I tell myself that I’m not stuck here – that I can leave whenever I want – but blind, cold, and alone in the dark – where would I go if I could? Sometimes, in the dead of night, I entertain myself with fantasies of things unknown to the scummy black waters – places of color, of sunlight, of joy, of happiness, of brotherhood – of love. Of giving and receiving, of warmth in the night and crisp, clean rain for the draught. I dream of another me – one who has been accustomed to the touch of these things. The only thing blacker than the waters I live in is perhaps myself. But sometimes even I can fool me. Sometimes I convince myself that I can see a dim light whose origin resides somewhere just beyond the surface – and so I struggle to the top – only to find that the closer I get to the surface the dimer the light gets – and I let myself sink right back to the murky origins of my semi-existence. It’s comfortable in the dark – where the despair and the misery is familiar – where the gnawing pain rivals with defective numbness. I told you that I don’t really know if anything else out there really exists – and to find out would mean overcoming myself, breaking the surface made of fiery glass and bitter ice, and traversing the great open desert under protection of no sun, guidance by no moon, and no stars dare to accompany me. It would mean going to the edge of existence simply to find out if there really is an edge. It would be the longest journey off my life – and I fear it.